


269 - Fluffy, Surprise Housemate Vibes

by storiesaboutvan



Category: Catfish and the Bottlemen (Band)
Genre: F/M, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-07
Updated: 2018-04-07
Packaged: 2019-04-19 14:37:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,472
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14239413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storiesaboutvan/pseuds/storiesaboutvan
Summary: Filling the prompt “reader becomes Larry and Van’s roommate through a mutual friend of Larry’s or something. Reader moves in and Larry welcomes them then leaves for tour with the rest of the boys. Reader takes care of place while they’re gone for a while and one day Van comes back early and reader thinks he’s like an intruder ~queue slow burn relationship from there ft. Looking after the boys, cleaning the bathroom on a Saturday night and Larry needs to drag you out with them.” from kookygranger and “can you please write a fic about being snowed in with Van?”Mini requests of Reader being a chef and lazy night with Van, reading Sylvia Plath, listening to records.





	269 - Fluffy, Surprise Housemate Vibes

The sun was beginning to rise over the horizon as you drove Larry to the airport at 4 am. You were in track pants, an old hoodie over an older t-shirt, and ugg boots. Larry kept thanking you, kept repeating that he could’ve got an uber. It was still the early stages of the friendship, so favours weren’t yet a given. 

He had taken you in though, giving you the third bedroom of the house he was renting with a friend, swooping you up into a home literally two days before becoming homeless. Your ex-housemate kicked you out because she wanted her boyfriend to move in. She knew a guy who knew Larry who apparently had space. “Or something,” she’d said with a level of carelessness you’d not expect from someone you thought was a friend.

“You’ll like Van. Everyone likes him,” Larry told you about the occupant of the second bedroom. It was the smallest of the rooms. Maybe Van didn’t need much room for clothes or things, but he surely had made his mark on the rest of his house.

The place screamed ‘indie boy, early twenties, smoker, gamer, dog owner.’ Larry had apologised for that, but you assured him that it made you feel at home. You loved Little Mary and Lulu instantly. You loved everything about the house. Larry too. But, you had only a week and a bit to fall in love because he was jet-setting off to Van and his band, for whom Larry worked. 

In those few days, Larry showed you how to fix the dishwasher if it broke and where the fuse box was. He pointed out which neighbours to hit up if you needed a cup of milk and which corner stores had the best candy. The rest of the time was spent cooking for each other, watching movies, and walking the dogs. When it was time for Larry to head off to work, you loved him like a brother and were genuinely sad to see him go.

As soon as you returned from the airport drop off you crawled back into bed and slept until noon. Once awake, you googled Catfish and considered Peanut Butter Cups for lunch.

…

It was a moonless night. You sat on the back doorstep letting the dogs go for one more run before bringing them in. The yard was hardly lit. Just the kitchen light shined through a window. Mary and Lulu were good dogs though; they’d not run off or get into trouble. You finished the last of your tea. The final mouthful was always the best, bitter but sickly sweet with the undissolved sugar. As you stood up, the hairs on the back of your neck did too.

Mary and Lulu came bounding over, circling you, suddenly nervous. You watched them for a second then looked around. Mary barked. Then, she wouldn’t stop. Lulu waddled inside casually but Mary was yapping up a storm.

“Oh my god. Baby. What’s wrong, huh?” you asked her. As soon as you bent down, she bolted around the side of the house. Immediately, you chased after her, cursing and calling her name. She was stuck behind the front yard’s chain link fence. There was nobody out on the street that you could see. No unfamiliar cars. It was quiet and how it always seemed, the exception being that the streetlights were working harder to illuminate the road below through thick fog.

Mary looked around like she was confused. She let you pick her up and carry her around the side and through the back door. “What’s wrong?” you asked her again as you walked down the hallway and into the loungeroom. Lulu was making a bed for herself on the throw blanket that had been left on the floor. Whatever Mary sensed, Lulu was unaffected by. When you put Mary down, she began sniffing the floor. It unsettled you. You’d felt something too.

As Mary continued to search for something, you checked the front door was locked. It was. You sighed and shook your head, telling yourself you were being silly. That’s when you heard it. Mary did too. She started barking and ran off down the hallway. You went to follow her but suddenly she stopped barking - like dogs do in the horror movies. She hadn’t yelped in pain though.

Tiptoeing into the kitchen, you got a knife out of the block, then moved on down the hall. Doorways were open that weren’t before and light was pouring into the hall. You considered calling out something, but your voice was caught in your throat. The first doorway open was Larry’s room. Slowly, you peaked your head around the corner. Nobody. Breathing out, you were saved from fear by Lulu’s heavy panting as she followed you down the hall. Had she just appeared at your feet, you would have screamed. Instead, you heard her coming and watched her walk into Larry’s room. She settled on her bed in there and looked up at you. You closed the door to keep her safe and moved on.

The hallway’s second doorway was Van’s room. He, like Larry, was still in the States. You were excited to meet Van though. The impression you’d formed of him through Larry and the internet was a good one. His door was open but it was dark inside. You were too afraid to turn it on, so moved quietly to the third open door - the bathroom. You could hear Mary. Her happy sniffling sound. Another sound then, one that made your stomach flip. Human. A human was in there with Mary. You had to save her. Larry said that Van loved Little Mary like nothing else. You couldn’t let some break and entering murderer have her.

One last breath in and you quickly turned the corner into the bathroom. Your body collided with another and you screamed louder and harder than you ever had before. Instantly, your throat hurt and you were sure your heart rate would never return to normal.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” the other person yelled. Mary jumped from their arms and ran off down the hallway. “Is that a fuckin’ knife?! What-Jesus…”

At least one part of your brain recognised Van on contact. Lucky, that part took control and immobilised you. A minute later, the rest of your brain caught up. You looked at him, then down at your hand.

“I could’ve killed you,” you said, still trying to regulate your breathing.

“Yeah! Yeah, I fuckin’ know! What are you doing?!”

“What am I doing?!” you yelled back. “What the fuck are you doing? Creeping about at night? Aren’t you meant to be overseas? Jesus. Where’s Larry?”

Van laughed and took a step back, his hands on his hips. He looked at you then shrugged, shook his hands out and stepped back closer to you. Unpredictably, he pulled you into a hug. Your body responded gratefully, needing the pressure to help calm down. Giving in, you wrapped your arms around him and closed your eyes.

“I’m sorry, love. Didn’t mean to give you a heart attack. Not a great way to meet my new housemate, huh?” he said. You shook your head. “I thought Larry would be here, actually. Checked his room first when nobody was in the lounge or kitchen. Don’t know where he is. Then, I just threw my stuff in my room and came in here. Dying for a piss. Sorry. Should’ve made more noise or called out. Just… I don’t know… Must be jet lagged or something,”

“S'okay. Think Mary knew you were here,” you mumbled into him.

“She’s a good puppy. Also, I’m sorry that I’ve gone ahead and hugged you without washing my hands. Gimme a second in here, yeah?”

“Oh!” you replied, quickly stepping out of his embrace. “Sorry. Fuck. Yeah. Take your time. I’ll put the kettle on,”

“Sounds good,”

“Should I call Larry? See if he’s alright?” you asked him.

Van nodded, his happy expression shifting into a darker one of concern. “Yeah, maybe. Yeah.”

After giving Van a weak attempt at a reassuring smile, you walked back down the hall to the kitchen. As the kettle bubbled away, you tried Larry’s phone but got no answer. It worried you. Mary appeared at your feet. She seemed different. Presumably, she was happy that her one true love Van McCann had returned. The toilet flushed and the bathroom tap loudly echoed through the house. After a couple of minutes, Van arrived, scooping Mary up. He accepted the cup of tea you’d brewed for him and sat at the kitchen table. Following his lead, you sat too.

“Thank you,” he said, letting Mary lay on his lap. He started to light a cigarette.

“Easy. I called Larry but he didn’t pick up,”

“Weird,” Van replied. Even though you didn’t know him well, you could still hear the concern in his voice. “The plan was to stay in the States for a bit, but they’ve got all that awful weather where we finished up tour and they reckoned it was gonna get worse. Some of the guys are gonna just go to California or whatever, go to a different state, but me and Larry decided to come home. I had one more interview thing to do but. Larry was gonna come home… like… today, but yesterday here… so he should be here. He left and everything. Haven’t heard from him since. He said he was gonna ring you and tell ya about it so you didn’t freak when we rocked up,”

“I freaked,” you said.

“Yeah, I noticed. At least I know you take the protection of our dogs very seriously,” Van replied with a little chuckle.

“Fuck!” you yelled, jumped up and ran to let Lulu out of Larry’s room. Expecting a confused and distressed dog, locked in a room when she did nothing wrong, you got there fast. When you opened the door you found her asleep on her bed like nothing had happened. Returning to the kitchen table, Van had not moved. “Forgot that I shut Lu in Larry’s room,” you explained.

“Figured something like that. Did wonder where she got to, but she tends to sleep through anything.”

You drank some of the tea, but it made your stomach feel worse than it already did. There was still panic in there, and worry about Larry.

“Should we call again?” you asked Van.

He pulled his phone from his pocket and multitasked like a motherfucker. It looked like Van was born to drink tea, smoke cigarettes, pat dogs, and call Larry. You could hear the line ringing. Not realising you were holding your breath at all, you breathed out when Larry’s voice was audible on the other end. You couldn’t make out the words exactly, but he was alive.

“Mate? Where the fuck are you? You’re givin’ us fuckin’ anxiety,” Van said in a tone that couldn’t be described as anything other than motherly. Their conversation continued to be alive with family-esque bickering and obvious love. You had to hold in laughter at certain points, Van looking over at you, shaking his head. When he hung up and slid his phone across the table, he sighed hard. “I cannot believe that fuckin’ knob. Dead from the neck up, you know what I mean?”

“He’s alright?”

“Yeah. Apparently, there was a lad on the flight over ‘ere that he knew, so they got drunk at the airport and he just forgot to call ya. They drank on the flight, then when they landed, they just kept going. That was last night. Today he’s woken up in the middle of fuckin’ nowhere, half his shit missing,”

“Um. Should we… go get him?” you asked, a little confused at how casual Van seemed.

Van just shrugged and sipped his tea. “Nah. He’s got his mum coming now. He forgot I was even here, and he says he didn’t want to ask you 'cause you’re new and stuff. Didn’t want to look like the tosser that he is.”

You laughed and slumped back into the kitchen chair. “Alright. Well. Hi,”

“Hi, love. Y/N, yeah? Never got a formal introduction,” Van replied after a little laugh.

“Yep, I’m Y/N. You’re Van. Not an intruder. Larry’s safe. The puppies are happy. We’re good,”

“We are also hungry,” Van added, with a nod.

“Oh, guessing Larry told you I’m a chef then? Are you telling me that in-flight food didn’t satisfy?”

Van grinned and shook his head. “I’m not picky, neither, you know? Don’t need fancy food. But even I think that stuff is just…” He searched his vocabulary for a suitable word.

“Offensive?” you helped.

“Yeah, that’s it.”

People probably assumed that a chef’s fridge and pantry would be well stocked. Maybe that was true for some. You, not so much. As you searched for complementary ingredients, Van started to tell you about the tour. When there was no pause after each of his, “You know what I mean?” questions, you realised they were rhetorical and the conversation was more a confession or venting session. How well you were listening was of no consequence as long as you looked over at him every now and then.

Van only fell silent once you put a plate in front of him. You’d roasted beetroot and pumpkin in a cake tin, covered with puff pastry. Once it was cooked, you flipped it onto a plate and added goat’s cheese, parsley and some balsamic glaze. All leftover ingredients from other dishes. It looked nice though. Van didn’t use cutlery, instead opting to eat it like a pizza.

“You ain’t eatin’?” he asked, his mouth full of food. You shook your head before lowering it to rest on your crossed arms on the table. If he was weirded out by you watching him, it didn’t show.

Soon after he’d finished eating, Van headed off to shower and sleep. He lingered in the doorway of the kitchen for a second, watching you put the dishes in the dishwasher. He went to say 'thank you’ again, or something else, but he stopped himself. Instead, he disappeared quietly, full, happy, warm.

…

The days were growing colder, but you still slept with your bedroom window open. Cocooned in blankets and thick flannelette pyjamas, you were in heaven. When a car pulled up out front and you listened to Larry’s mother simultaneously fuss over him and peck at his idiocy, you ascended to an even higher state of existence. Sniggering quietly, you rolled over and peaked out the window. Larry managed to convince her to not bother coming in.

“No, Ma! Van’s probably still asleep. You know how hard he works!” he said.

“I haven’t seen Ryan in months. Like a second son, now I don’t even know the boy! What about the girl you’ve got living here now too! Is she home? I want to meet her!”

“Ma! No. She’s probably still settlin’ in. Just… We’ll 'ave you over for Sunday roast, okay? Mary and Bernie too. Have a whole reunion. I just need to sleep. Please, Ma.”

They hugged liked they meant it, because they did, and then Larry came inside.

You listened as Larry moved around the house. Shower. Kettle. Quiet. Walking down the hallway, you expected his bedroom door to be closed. It wasn’t. Neither was Van’s. You stood in the open space and looked at the boys, under the same blanket in Van’s bed, on their sides, their phones in front of their faces.

“What are you doing?” you asked them. Both their heads popped up.

“Havin’ a cuppa and catchin’ up,” Larry said. “Made a pot in case you got up.”

In the kitchen, you filled a cup with drinking temperate tea and sugar. Returning to Van’s room, you held your mug up to Larry in cheers.

“You getting in, love? Freezin’ out,” Van mumbled, glancing out for only long enough to make it clear he was talking to you. He sat up to get his tea from the bedside table. As he drank a couple mouthfuls, he looked over again, then moved the blanket in invitation.

That’s what happened most mornings. Whoever was awake first would feed the dogs, make the tea, then wait for the next person. Everyone would pile into bed together, sharing the quality internet content they had found on social media while they tried to sleep, and getting comfortable. You drank from each other’s mugs until there wasn’t any tea left. Arms and tummies were pillows and body heat was shared. A state of security was achieved quickly with Van and Larry. You’d never felt so okay around people so quickly. 

…

Larry had been home all day. It was too cold to take the dogs out for a walk. Their little paws would freeze on the icy sidewalk. Instead, he ran loops around the house with them until they got tired and hid under Van’s bed. When he wasn’t needed anymore, he came and sat with you on the couch.

“Not cooking today?” he asked. It was a fair question. If you weren’t at the restaurant or out with friends, you were usually found at the stovetop cooking something weird and amazing. Larry was far more adventurous in his food choices, but Van was a more willing guinea pig.

“Nah. Got a couple of days off. Thought I’d just chill today. Watch movies or something,”

“Good idea. We should order pizza later. Haven’t had shitty food for so long. You’ve been feeding us too good.”

Two horror movies later, Van arrived home from wherever he had been. He came bearing gifts. Jaffa Cakes for all.

“Move,” he grunted after he placed three mugs of tea on the coffee table in the lounge and shoved two Jaffa Cakes in his mouth. It was unclear if the order was directed at you or Larry. Neither of you moved or responded, but you both looked up at him unimpressed. “Please,” he added.

“Me or her?” Larry asked.

You reached out and took your mug of tea. Folding your legs up on the couch and wriggling in, you were not at all prepared to move.

“Either,”

“Sit on the other chair,” Larry said. He pointed to the armchair, just in case Van missed its location, since he seemed to be having trouble with logic.

“Nah. Wanna sit here. Get lonely,”

“Fuckin’-Jesus,” Larry muttered under his breath as he stood and moved. “I wish I could tell ya to get fucked, mate, but you really are the co-dependent sort,” he said as he grabbed his tea and sat down. He looked at you then. “Don’t you be lookin’ all flattered and shit. It wouldn’t have mattered which of us stayed there,”

“You guys cuddle up on the couch a lot before I moved in?” you asked genuinely.

Larry shrugged, but Van spoke. “This ain’t really cuddling,” he said, then slurped at his tea. He had sat down beside you, pulling a blanket around him tightly. He’d slumped into your side, his head against your shoulder. “But yeah. Don’t like being alone. Never have… What we watching now? Yous watchin’ horror movies? I don’t wanna watch that. You seen Austin Powers, Y/N? Let’s do that or somethin’ funny.”

You regretted ever installing a voting system in the house. You regretted saying it should be a democracy, even if you and Larry paid cheaper rent, subsidised by Van’s much larger paychecks. You were outvoted two to one on the Austin Powers front, and had to sit through all three films.

There was a break between the second and third to order pizza.

“I cooked for you!” Van said as he handed you a plate with slices on it. He grinned like he actually had cooked.

“Wow! I’m so impressed! This is amazing dough,”

“Thanks, babe. Here, let me just help ya there,” he said, taking the slice out of your hand, biting into it himself, then attempting to feed it to you. When you refused, he moved to try harder. You rolled off the couch, but Van followed. Your plate of pizza was lost under a blanket and God knows where his went. Starting to laugh, your mouth opened and it allowed Van to get pizza in. “Y/N!” Van squealed. “I’m just tryna help, babe!”

Pizza sauce was being wiped along your jaw. It felt wet and awful. Still, you couldn’t stop laughing and Van was biting on his bottom lip when you finally gave in and let him feed you. Tangled up and half under the coffee table, you weren’t in a vertical enough position to allow gravity to let you swallow the food. Van sat up and helped you up too.

“Good?” he asked. You nodded and smiled. “You got a little something…” Van wiped his thumb along your jaw, then sucked the sauce off his thumb.

“Just the tip, hey, Y/N?” Larry said, breaking the tension. The food was already everywhere, so it made no difference when you ditched a slice at his head.

…

“What are you doing?” Larry asked. Each of his words was separated from the next by a few beats of silence.

“What does it look like I’m doing?” you replied sarcastically.

“Looks like you’re cleaning the fuckin’ bathroom with a toothbrush,”

“Well done. Ten points to Gryffindor.” Discoloured and dirty grout in the shower always made you feel gross. You blew a puff of air out your mouth to try to move the strand of hair running down your face out of the way. Larry’s expression was one of disbelief. “What?”

“Y/N. You’re the perfect housemate. You cook. You clean. I get it. But you ain’t gonna see me for a week. Don’t you want to come out with us?”

“And celebrate your leaving?” you asked, confused at his logic.

“Y/N! Please?!”

Van appeared next to Larry, looking down at you where you were on your knees on the shower floor. He cocked his head to the side. “Why 'Y/N, please’?” he asked.

“Tell her to come with us,” Larry said to him.

Van snorted and put a whole dumpling in his mouth. He had a bowl of them. They were left over from your trial and error earlier in the day. “I’m not tellin’ her to do anything, mate. You think I want my 'ead ripped off,” he said.

“Y/N,” Larry said, turning back to you. “I’m asking ya as a friend. You haven’t been out in ages and it’s probably gonna start snowin’ tomorrow. You’re not gonna be able to go out for a bit, so you should, you know, capitalise on tonight, you know what I mean?”

Sighing, you looked up at them. They were both dressed and ready to go in almost matching uniforms. Black boots and jeans. Band shirts and nice jackets. Larry’s was a heavy dark grey wool. It was long - longer on him because of his height. Van’s was a deep black velvet. Whenever he wore it you liked to run your fingertips across the material. Soft and thick. You were sure he wore it to draw touching out of people.

Both Larry and Van had an expectant expression on their faces. Larry was hopeful but Van looked like he knew you were bound to say yes.

…

The sky wasn’t black. It never was that close to the city and it never ever was that close to dawn. You were sitting on the curb, head tilted back to see the sky. Larry’s voice and laugh were ringing in your ears. He was somewhere close, so you felt safe. Both he and Van had looked after you all night. After convincing you to come out, they felt responsible for you having a good time. By the end of the night, you were so drunk that even basic sentences completely eluded you. The boys were fucked too, but were apparently better at holding their liquor.

“Babe? You right?” Van asked. He was standing behind you, leaning over to look at you closely. His face was inches from yours. You stared into eyes. “Y/N?” he sung softly to you, reaching out to boop your nose gently.

“Mmmm?” you hummed in reply.

“Think we’ll head home now. It’s fuckin’ freezing and Laz’s got to get up early,”

“Everyone’s leaving,” you whispered.

“Yeah, yeah. Come on. Up. Here, hold my hand.”

On two feet, you wrapped yourself around Van and curled under his jacket like you had always belonged there. He held you tight like he didn’t want you to let go. In the back of a taxi, you tried to listen to Van and Larry talk but passed out within a couple of minutes. You were glad Larry had begged you to come out; you’d miss them while they were off on tour and desperately wanted to make every minute with them count.

…

When you woke up you were face to face with Van. You almost screamed but was able to catch the shock before it became audible. What the fuck was Van doing home? Had the tour been cancelled? Where was Larry? Why was only Van in your bed?

Van’s nose twitched in his sleep. You watched it move then let your eyes slowly recognise the rest of him. His freckles and eyelashes, a bit sticky with sleep. He was shirtless and his necklace was twisted up. It begged for fixing, but you felt paralysed for reasons unknown. Van’s skin was mostly pale, but he had random bruises across him from all the careless moves he made. His small patch of chest hair, his pride and joy, was curly and cute. He was… soft.

“Van,” you whispered. Probably not the best choice of volume when attempting to wake someone. “Van,” you repeated a little louder.

“Hey,” he croaked, curling his body up and pulling your blanket over him. “Cold,” he muttered. His eyes stayed closed.

“Um… are you running late or something?” you asked.

Van’s eyebrows pulled together and a hand emerged from under the blanket to rub his head. “No?”

“What are you still doin’ here then?”

His eyes opened and he looked at you confused. “Where?”

“Here. Home,”

“…'Cause I live here?” he said slowly.

“You don’t have a tour?” you asked. He shook his head. “Where’s Larry going then?!”

Van laughed. “You know he does got a life separate to me and the band. He’s going to spend the weekend with some family friends or something. Didn’t you ask where he was going?”

“I guess… not?”

“Yeah, guess not. And did ya just decide I was going too?”

“I guess… so…” you answered.

Van laughed again then looked at you. “Sorry to disappoint, love, but looks like your alone time is cancelled,”

“No, that’s okay. I got a new menu I can try out on you,” you said happily, not wanting him to think he’d ruin your plans or had upset you.

“And I generate good warmth. Come 'ere,” he said, opening his arms.

You snuggled in and closed your eyes and pretended that you believed it was normal to interact with housemates like that.

…

“Absolutely fuckin’ not, Y/N,” Van said. He jumped from his chair and stood in the doorway, blocking your exit.

“Van, don’t be a dick,”

“I’m not. I’m being a rational fuckin’ person, unlike you. You can’t go outside. You can’t even see outside it’s snowing that much,”

“It’s not a blizzard and the shop is just on the corner,” you argued, trying to push past him. It took hardly any effort for him to stop you.

“It’s almost a blizzard. A bit of milk ain’t worth dying. Were you driving? Your car wouldn’t drive on that even if it had chains. And you literally cannot walk through it,” Van said, his voice stern with a slight outline of panic. You paused to consider what he was saying.

“I need-”

“The milk for the dessert on the menu you need to test run. I know, babe, but you can’t. The shop is probably closed anyway. Look, I’ll call it and find out, yeah? Then you’ll know.”

You said nothing as Van Googled the store’s number and called. Nobody answered but a machine supported Van’s hypothesis; they were closed due to the weather. Instead of looking smug about being right, Van seemed sympathetic. He knew that it was the first time you were designing the full menu at the restaurant. You’d definitely been able to have input before, but this one was all yours. Set to run in a couple days’ time, practice was everything.

As Van ended the speakerphone call, you sat down at the kitchen table, defeated. Van was chewing his lip. He made a small gasping sounds and began to move quickly. He crossed the kitchen floor to peck a kiss on your cheek. With a, “Don’t worry, babe. I’ve gotcha’,” he was jogging down the hall, putting his heaviest coat on, and running out the front door.

“Van!” you called after him, watching him trudge through ankle-deep snow. He disappeared behind the neighbour’s fence. The brewing blizzard prevented you from hearing what was happening.

You were only standing at the front door for less than two minutes. Holding it firmly in your hand, you had it opened just enough to peak out of but not enough to let snow inside. The cold was finding a way in though. Van appeared at the end of the path up to the house. You moved to let him in.

Standing in the small hallway straight off the front door, Van stripped off his coat, which was drenched. His boots went next, then socks and jeans. Everything was wet and freezing. Standing in his underwear and a t-shirt, he leaned over to search through the pile of clothes. In the inside pocket of his coat is a small carton of milk. He holds it up and shakes it.

“Someone order a milkshake?” he asks with a grin.

You could have married him then and there.

…

All morning you and Van sat at the windows, watching the snow fall. He pointed out the obvious - that you were snowed in. “Lucky I got enough smokes,” he said in a spacey kind of way, as he watched a snowflake melt against the windowpane.

Van had said that he was going to try to piece together some of the fragments of ideas he’d collected on tour. He said he’d ride out the snow in by sitting next to the fireplace, feeding it wood and old notebooks while he wrote melodic poetry for the world. He hadn’t put it as eloquently as that, but his genius deserved description. However, all day Van sat at the kitchen table watching you cook. He’d open his mouth to let you spoon anything in. He used all his best adjectives to give you the most specific feedback he could provide. Demanding to lick bowls but doing the dishes for you as you went, he was a blessing more than an annoyance.

The best thing having Van as a sous chef was that he sang. You thought maybe he’d voice would give out or he would simply grow tired. Alas, he kept going. The National. Janis Joplin. The Doors. Gorillaz. The Streets. Arctic Monkeys. He was the best jukebox you’d ever met.

By sundown, the house was warm and the fire was blazing. It wasn’t the only thing. After eating his way through your entire menu, Van lit a joint and stretched out on the loungeroom floor. He dragged a record player out from somewhere and spent twenty minutes looking for batteries for it. You sat on the couch and mimicked Van’s comfort. Stretched out, you watched him whisper along to the vinyl.

“I’m never alone. I’m alone all the time. Are you at one or do you lie?” he sang. He felt that maybe someone was watching him, but he was in a haze. “We live in a wheel where everyone steals. But when we rise it’s like strawberry fields.” His voice was getting louder with each line. He was filling his performance with conviction. “If I treated you bad, you bruise my face.” Van’s head rolled on the carpet and he looked up to face you. He grinned wide and sung to you. “Couldn’t love you more. You got a beautiful taste.”

When the vinyl ran to the end, you watched it spin around and around until Van crawled to it. He moved the needle then laid back down on the carpet next to the player.

“Not gonna play another?” you asked.

“Nahhhhhh,” he whispered.

The lights went off.

“Oh,” you said.

“Not surprised,” Van added.

After a couple of minutes of silence, of you watching Van nap on the floor between the fireplace and the record player, of him thinking or dreaming of something unknown, you sighed. Van’s eyes opened in response.

“What do people do without power?” you asked him.

“Ahhhhhh….” he started. It was evident on his face that the cogs of his mind were turning. “Read? People read a lot of books in the olden days.”

You laughed. “Van! Olden days?! And people read a lot of books now!”

“Do they? Well, read somethin’ to me then, yeah?”

Without hesitation, you rolled off the couch and went off to collect a book. The book.

Van listened intently as you read to him. When he began to crawl along the floor you thought he was coming to sit on the couch or lie at your feet, but instead he took one of your hands and pulled gently. Taking the cue, you let him lead you to sit in front of the fire. You laid on the floor and he rested his head on your thigh. He was on his side, watching you.

Your voice had started to go croaky when you decided to ask him if he was in love with it.

“This your favourite, isn’t it?” he responded. You nodded. “Bet you love The Smiths too. All that depressing Morrisey shit,”

“Morrisey is a self-absorbed cunt. Sylvia Plath was a genius. She was too good for this world but it still should’ve fuckin’ treated her better. The Bell Jar is… is art,”

“Do you know how I know you love it?” Van asked, rolling onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows.

“Um, 'cause I stopped reading to, like, calm myself multiple times?” you joked.

Van smiled but shook his head. “I could feel it,” he said. Van put one hand on your stomach and the other on your thigh, just above the knee. He pressed down like he was trying to stop your body from levitating off the floor. “The more ya read, the more you tensed up. Then, when you got to the good bits you just… I don’t know. Let go, or something, you know?”

You sat up and looked at Van. Not sure what to say, you said nothing for a while. The sound of fire and snow were all that was and contradiction was the theme of the night.

“Do you like it?” you asked in a small voice. Sharing your favourite songs and films and books is a personal thing. In a lot of ways, it is deeply exposing.

Van hesitated, which you expected. “I can… I know it’s beautiful, you know? Like, I’m not stupid. It’s good. But it’s not my thing. Wouldn’t have guessed it to be your thing either, Y/N,”

“How come?”

“Ah, you’re pretty… upbeat. Vibrant. With the cooking and stuff… You’re not really moody,” he answered. He’d struggled to articulate why he felt it was odd that The Bell Jar was your favourite. He didn’t really know why he felt it; he just felt it.

“You’ve only known me for a couple of weeks. Not enough time to learn everything,”

“Three and a half,” he clarified quickly. “And yeah, I guess. Spent most our time here though. But yeah, you’re right. Lots to learn about you. You’re an onion,”

“What?” you asked, confused at the analogy.

“Shrek, babe. Onions have layers. Like you.” Van was grinning and you couldn’t tell if he was taking the piss or if he just really thought it was the most apt way of describing you. Either way, he wasn’t exactly wrong.

“I can’t believe you’re making Shrek references. You’re really getting the hang of the whole meme thing,” you said.

“Me-me,” Van incorrectly corrected.

As you laughed at him, he sat up and pulled throw cushions off the couch. You watched as he nested, then decided the nest wasn’t good enough. He disappeared down the hall and returned with blankets pulled from all three beds. When he had set it all down, you climbed on top and got comfortable next to him.

“Put a record on?” you asked.

He didn’t complain about you asking for music the second he got cozy. He just did as you requested then returned to your side.

The flames of the fire were dying down. While you slept, they would extinguish completely. It was stupid to not put another log on before then, but your body was melting into the blankets too happily to dare disturb it. You watched the last of the flames flicker into each other, and when your vision became spotted white and it hurt to look any longer, you glanced out the window. The curtains were pulled together, but there was enough of a gap that you could see the night outside. The snow was still falling, but even that seemed to be dying down.

Behind you, Van turned to lie on his side and press into you. His arms wrapped around your waist and he pulled you in close. Like a ragdoll kitten, you were pliable and would have moved however he wanted you to. At first it was, 'I’m just that comfortable,’ but then you realised it was more a case of, 'I just like him that much.’

“Van?” you whispered.

“Babe?”

His face was buried in your hair. You didn’t know what you wanted him to say, but you wanted him to say something. Anything to acknowledge you. Him. The ease that existed between the two of you. The hot sensation that rolled over your skin, slowly burning, whenever you were around each other.

You’d been quiet long enough that Van began to worry. He figured you wanted something but he didn’t know what to offer. Equipped with constant honesty, he did what Van did best. He stated a truth.

“Y/N, babe… ’M glad you moved in 'ere,” he mumbled into your hair. He felt you melt into him. “You’re kinda… you’re the best thing that’s happened to me.”


End file.
